Yearning
by BadKatPat
Summary: Harry finds himself thinking about Draco more and more.  Sometimes, time is all you need.  Post DH.  slash HPDM with a touch of angst.


He stood there proud and calmly across the King's Cross Station, his coat buttoned up to his throat. He nodded and turned away. As he had always done. It wasn't because they hadn't spoken in years. It wasn't because they didn't have anything to say to each other. It was because they had too much to say, and saying would have been too revealing.

Harry shifted his eyes back to Al, his middle child, the one most like him. It was like reliving his own first time at King's Cross Station. Ginny's voice was far off and distant, barely heard over the roaring in his ears, his mind. He really didn't care what she said. He hadn't cared in a long time. Still, he let her lead him by the arm through the station.

He was up ahead with his wife. A pretty thing, Harry could tell, even from the back. Her long black hair floated across her fine coat as she turned her head to speak to her husband. Yet, from the frown on his face, her words were harsh and severe, perhaps even cutting. But, Harry couldn't tell, he couldn't hear what she was saying. Perhaps, it was only his imagination.

Yet, Harry couldn't help how he felt at the moment. The sight of that pointy face, the blond hair still that almost too white shade of blond. It didn't matter how many years had passed, or what had happened in their lives since those two days nineteen years ago.

He could still remember the look Draco had on his face, the day the Death Eaters held him in Malfoy Manor, in their drawing room. How Draco had refused to look at him, to deny him as the one they wanted. But, through his own swollen slit-like eyes Harry had seen the look he'd passed him before turning away. He knew who he was. But, he didn't say. He wouldn't say. He knew. Yet, he held his tongue, and forgetting about family, and honor, and his supposed master.

He had tried to save him, and Harry had never forgotten. He hadn't forgotten either how Draco had let the wands be taken from his hand so easily. He hadn't even tried to keep them from Harry. He had released them as soon as he was able, unwilling to draw any attention to himself by releasing them sooner.

Harry hadn't forgotten.

Then it had been Harry's turn, to save him from the flames of Fiendfyre that Crabbe had set upon them all. How his hands had clutched his middle so tightly, the feel of heat from his body so closely fitted to his as they swooped through the room on a borrowed broom. His voice thundering in his ear to head for the door, to freedom and safety. And how slow he had been to let go of his waist, and fall to the floor, delaying their parting by seconds as if he wanted to be a part of Harry. Fitted next to his body for the rest of all time. Harry wasn't stupid; he could see those grey eyes full of anguish when he opened them. Harry knew.

Stumbling, Harry caught himself. Ginny turned to him, concern furrowed in her brow and asked, "You alright?"

Nodding, Harry allowed her to lead him on. They slowed their pace. The Malfoy's were arguing and though Harry knew how Ginny would have loved to listen in, she slowed, giving them their space.

Suddenly, Draco turned away from his wife and stalked away from her, heading toward the Potters, anger and sorrow equally mixed on his face. He stopped in front of Harry, and although his face was a mask of anger and scorn, his eyes told a different tale. They were wide and grey and sad, and Harry could see the loneliness and pain he had suffered throughout the years, but when they settled on Harry's face, there was a spark there that held promise and something Harry had only imagined before.

"Potter," he said curtly and brushed by Harry, bumping his arm against Harry's. Then he was gone, a black coat in a sea of black overcoats and jackets.

The anger and indignation was coming off Ginny in waves and through the slight grasp she had on his arm, Harry could feel the tension building within her as her anger grew. "I can't believe how rude he is to you, after you saved his life and all, miserable little snot rag that he is. Harry, why do you let him treat you like that? He owes you everything, everything I tell you…."

Harry tuned her out. He had gotten very good at tuning people and Dark Lords out of his mind, so this was just a diddle. Soon, the memory of pale hands pressing against his stomach and the pointy chin what had pressed into his shoulder became his real memory.

Harry knew Draco hadn't forgotten either.

XXXXXX

"Harry, you ought to quit, mate. Don't you think you've had enough?" Ron asked, worriedly.

"Leave me alone," Harry muttered, tipping back his glass of Guinness to get the last few drops.

He smacked his lips, set the pint glass back down on the scarred wooden bar and fixed bloodshot eyes on his friend.

"Harry, come on, let's go," Ron implored.

"Nah, wanna 'nother pint and then I'll fink about going," Harry slurred, waving the barkeep over.

The evening had started out fairly well considering what Harry was going to tell Ron tonight. Harry had figured that it would probably be best to tell his wife's brother and his best friend that they were getting divorced. At the time it seemed best to divide and conquer and tell Ron first, and then Hermione. But, after too many pints, Harry was rethinking the whole thing. Not the divorce, who to tell first.

It always seemed that things started well for Harry and then went sour at the end. This pretty much described his marriage to Ginny. Love, lust, and unbridled desire had been there at the onset, but now… well now was nothing but a fucking mess. Lately, just her very breathing made him want to scream. It was quite possible that she felt the same way. She certainly hadn't argued the divorce, only fixing him with a glare and nodding. Now, it was time to tell Ron and he couldn't fucking do it!

"Hermione says that you and Ginny ought to come over more often. She misses you, and so do I. You always seem to be off somewhere, and Ginny seems to always have an excuse for you." Ron studied Harry, his eyes narrowing at the rumpled, defeated man sitting on the barstool next to him. "What the hell is going on?" he finally asked.

"Ron," Harry started and then stopped. In Harry's befuddled, drunken state he had just remembered one fact about Ron and all the Weasleys. They had a temper. Not just a temper, I'm-yelling-at-you-and-possibly-punching-you-in-the-nose-temper, which would have been easy to deal with; but, the kind of temper that kept a man up all night plotting revenge and ruination. Harry had discovered this little known trait after he'd married Ginny. Sometimes, he wondered how the hell they had ever been sorted into Gryffindor.

"Oh shite, look who's dragging ass in here. Malfoy," Ron said, making the name Malfoy sound like another name for dung. He gave a nod toward the blond coming toward them, heading for the open seat next to Harry. "Little ferret should have been left to burn." Ron muttered, but loud enough for Harry and Draco to hear him

"Pint of dark," Draco asked, putting money on the bar. He looked different. Maybe it was age, or being known as the son of a Death Eater, but Draco looked worn, less pointy, less sharp, less alive than Harry remembered.

With a start, Harry wondered why he even cared. It wasn't like they'd ever been friends. Right… more like worst enemies during school. But, Harry hadn't forgotten how he'd refused to identify him that one frightening night. It would have taken one word to have him killed, but he'd refused to look or to even say what he knew to be true. Just like now. Draco was patently ignoring him, taking a slow sip of his ale, his fingers nervously fiddling with the serviette the barkeep had left.

Swiveling around on his barstool, Harry watched Draco from the corner of his eye. He looked… older, tired, and frayed. Like a jumper that's been worm one time too many, until the threads are broken and snagged, and if one more thread is pulled, the whole sweater would unravel.

Harry wondered what it would take to unravel Draco.

The blonde's eyes flickered up and met Harry's and then he sneered, his mouth twisting in its old familiar way. "Got a problem, Potter?"

Harry shook his head, and turned back to Ron.

"Like I was telling you, the Harpies are going to take the match against the Wasps. If Harris doesn't choke, and McGuiver recovers from his sprained…" Ron was saying before Harry tuned him out.

Even Ron was endless. Full of words that meant little or nothing to Harry. He would have cut off his right hand before admitting it, out loud that is, that he really didn't care about Ron, or Quidditch matches, or any other mundane utterance that seemed to spill out of Ron's mouth lately. Sometimes, the words were little knives stabbing him over and over, pricking his skin with their endless nattering.

If he shifted just a little, he could still see Draco nursing his drink. In the nineteen years since Hogwarts, Harry hadn't run into Draco at any function, social event or memorial. This in its own right was very odd, since the papers always seemed to place him at anything Harry attended. When you actually thought about it, this was the first time Harry could ever remember seeing Draco in a pub. And drinking Guinness.

And sitting there in his expensive cashmere jumper, the dark material covering his neck, making the skin that did show look all that much creamier.

Where did that thought come from?

He shouldn't care if Draco's skin… erm, Malfoy's skin was creamy and looked utterly delicious. He shouldn't care if Dra… Malfoy's mouth was so red, and so very kissable. Actually what he should care about is the fact that his bladder was about to burst and the urge to pee like ten men was upon him.

And if he sat there much longer, he would be very, very embarrassed.

Harry stumbled off the stool, nearly losing his balance and what was left of his dignity. The loo was only off thirty feet away, but with the golden fluid nearly backed up to his eyeballs and his seriously impaired lack of balance it seemed a Quidditch field length away.

"Harry! Don't fall in!" Ron roared and turned back to finish his story to the pretty woman on the other side of him. He had been so lost in his thoughts that he didn't even notice when Ron had struck up a conversation with the little tart on the other side of him.

Pushing open the men's room door, through tunnel vision he saw the row of urinals lined up on the wall. Harry fumbled with his zipper as he braced his other hand on the wall for support. Finally, finally… relief. As the golden liquid poured from him, spattering over the porcelain vessel, he groaned.

"What the fuck what you're doing!" said a sharp voice next to him.

Blearily, Harry looked over. Oh Merlin, Malfoy. What was this… follow Harry around day?

Then Harry looked down and drunkenly realized that he was pissing on Dra… Malfoy's shoes and completely missing the urinal. Startled, Harry jerked and sprayed the wall instead.

Face burning, Harry glanced over at Draco to apologize, but was distracted by a flash of pale skin and golden curls disappearing as Draco zipped up his trousers. Harry licked his lips, his mouth suddenly dry and the pale worn face swam dizzily before him.

"Sorry," Harry slurred, and gave himself a shake. "Lemme clean those for you," he said pulling his wand.

Malfoy's eyes widened at Harry's wand shakily pointed at his shoes, green sparks sputtering from its tip.

"No….that's okay," Draco said hastily. "I'll just get my elf to take care of it."

"Wait… I'm sworry… er sorry. "Lemme at least buy you a drink, all right?" Harry asked, tucking his wand away in his sleeve. Now that the sudden fit of dizziness was gone, he could really look at Draco. Even if he was pissed to the gills, he could see the effects of age and life on Draco. His hair had receded a bit, but not terribly. At least he didn't comb it over like Seamus. His hair was still ice blond, but now shot with strands of silver. It didn't detract from his appearance but added to it, giving his hair an ethereal shimmer that mesmerized Harry. There were faint lines at the corner of his eyes and his mouth. He still had a Seeker's build, long and lean. Harry hoped that the man before him didn't notice how much he was checking him out; that he would mistake it for simple drunkenness.

Draco shrugged, the movement rippling down his body and Harry sucked in his breath: he still moved like a Seeker. "I suppose one wouldn't hurt." Draco said, giving his shoes a little shake. "I'm not here to get falling down drunk like you."

"I'm not falling down drunk," Harry replied, swaying. "I'm… I'm …" and the world dimmed around him and a sharp pain streaked through his head.

XXXXXXX

"Fuck you, you little ferrety bastard!" Ron was shouting. The world was coming back in jerks and flashes of light and bright pain in his head. "I didn't do anything!" came Malfoy's protest.

Harry opened his eyes and quickly shut them. The light hurt his eyes and things were fuzzy around the edges.

"You did so! You've pulled shit on Harry before and now this!" Ron shouted and Harry felt something wet trickling down the side of his face.

He opened his eyes again and found himself looking at Ron's upside down face.

"I didn't do a damn thing! He passed out and hit his head on the urinal!" Malfoy sputtered, glaring at Ron and anyone else nearby. "And… if I hadn't caught him before he hit the floor, he would have landed in his own piss!" Malfoy cried, pointing to a puddle near Ron's foot.

"You're nothing but scum, you…" Ron started.

"Ron," Harry croaked from his spot on the floor.

"Harry! You okay?" Ron's anxious face turned right side up and loomed closer.

"Yeah," Harry said, struggling to a sitting position. It was a struggle; the world spun on its axis once more, but Harry stayed upright. He was having trouble seeing; blood was dripping into his right eye, and he felt for its source.

"You've got a nasty cut on your forehead, Harry," Ron said as Harry's fingers found the gash. Harry suddenly felt sick, the painful cut sending waves of nausea through him when his fingers touched the torn edges. It felt like his scar had burst open, hot waves of bright, cleansing pain shooting through his head and curdling his stomach.

"Yeah, I know," Harry said and gasped as stars exploded before his eyes. He was quickly sobering up. Harry didn't usually drink like he did tonight. Tonight was about drinking liquid courage to tell Ron about his impending divorce. If there was any hope of salvaging their friendship, he was going to have to tell Ron first. Ginny wasn't the same Ginny he'd married, as Ron wasn't the same person he was during their years in school. Ginny was no longer a brave, blazing young woman who loved him, but a shrew intent of maintaining appearances in front of the Wizarding World. Harry wondered again if the Sorting Hat had made a mistake years ago: she seemed more Slytherin in the way she dealt with everyone now. Almost every word that came from her mouth was sharp and cutting and hurtful. Words were like knives. When the right ones were thrown, they could cut deep and kill your soul. Ron, on the other hand, was still fun loving and still Harry's best friend. But, since the death of Fred, family came first, before everything and everyone else. It was almost his mantra.

"Did he do it?" Ron demanded, glaring angrily at Draco, who was watching Harry with a small smirk playing across his lips.

"No, he didn't," Harry admitted. "I think I just passed out." Harry was rewarded with a full-blown smirk. Apparently Draco hadn't changed that much since school.

"Well, if you will excuse me, I'll be going," Draco said curtly, stepping over Harry and heading toward the bathroom door. He stopped, turned and smiled at Harry. "You owe me."

Harry's breathe hitched. There it was. It was true. Ginny was right. He was a fag. The dazzling smile that Malfoy had shot him proved it. He was getting hard. He'd tried to brush off the fact that he enjoyed Playwitch. It did have interesting articles. Although it had been a wee bit difficult laughing off that she'd caught him reading "10 Ways to Please your Wizard without Your Tongue." It had been even more difficult the time she'd caught him in the bathroom tossing off to a photo of a fit blond with a pointy sort of chin. It had become quite apparent when even the thought of fucking Ginny made him limper than a week old stalk of celery. There it was, he was definitely gay.

Harry pulled his mussed jumper down and thought of McGonagall in a bikini. Then, Hagrid in a bikini, and when that didn't work, Kretcher in a Speedo. Now that worked. He felt his boner subside into a manageable bulge in his trousers.

"Ron, I gotta tell ya something," Harry said, his voice marred by the drunken slur he now had. "It's me and Ginny... We're going to…"

"Have another baby!" Ron crowed, reaching to pull Harry up from the floor and into a bear hug.

"No, no more children. We're getting divorced," Harry said bluntly.

The world turned on its axis one more time and the last thing Harry remembered before blackness enfolded him was Ron's fist.

XXXXXX

Another boring Ministry affair, another evening wasted on small talk and endless questions about the past. Another night spent doing one more thing he didn't want to do. Harry straightened his robes and headed to the bar. Not so much to get a drink, but to get away from the group of wizards and witches who were paying homage. It was boring; it was annoying, and completely irritating.

"Gin and tonic," Harry said to the bartender. At least this corner of the room wasn't crowded, at least for the minute. The glass was set before him and Harry eyed the clear liquid before taking a healthy swallow. It wasn't his drink of choice, but it was one could drink without getting carried away. He took another sip and swallowed, grimacing at the bitter taste it left in his mouth.

"Potter," said a voice from his left

"Malfoy," Harry said, turning to face the other man. Malfoy was dressed in elegant black robes with silver flourishes running the length of the material from his neckline to his feet. His hair wasn't as long as Lucius' had been, but it brushed his shoulders in the front. He looked better than the last time Harry had seen him. He'd lost that worn look, but the faint lines remained around his eyes and mouth. It wasn't unbecoming; in fact, it made him look less sly, less cruel, less like his father.

"I'd like a word with you, if I may?" Malfoy asked, setting his glass down on the bar next to Harry's. His hand trembled slightly as he brushed his hair back from his face.

Harry nodded, more embarrassed than interested. Malfoy hadn't spoken to him since their last chance meeting in the pub's look several months ago. Harry hadn't exactly been in his best form then. It was the last time he'd gotten falling down drunk in public, at least. Of course, he drowned his sorrows quite a bit since then. Oh Merlin, was this about Malfoy's shoes?

"I… I wanted to say thank you. It should have been done ages ago, but there never seemed to be a proper time or place," Malfoy said, an embarrassed flush spreading across his cheeks. His eyes roamed Harry's face and he licked his lips in a nervous gesture. "I know that I was prick to you during school, and I can't explain why nor do I want to. I just hope you'll accept my apology and my thanks."

Harry felt like he'd been smacked in the face with a Bludger. If anyone owed anyone an apology it was him for pissing on Malfoy's shoes! The past had been the past for so long now, that Harry rarely thought of his days at Hogwarts. With good reason, too. So many good memories of Ron and Ginny intertwined with shitty ones of punishment and shame and hurt.

"Erm, thanks," Harry said after a bit. He probably had looked like a fool standing there with his gob smacked expression, but Malfoy either hadn't noticed or was expertly pretending not to.

Malfoy nodded, and looked away, scanning the room. He turned back to Harry. "Your friend Weasley is coming. I'd best go," he said, picking up his glass.

Harry caught him by the elbow. "Malfoy," he started. How could he tell him that he wished things had been different between them? That he could have been Slytherin too? That although he'd been a bastard to him during school, it had all been redeemed with one brave act by a terrified young boy? What words would be enough and everything? Harry swallowed nervously, his mouth suddenly dry. "I'd like to talk to you later,"

Malfoy's face was a cross between fear and something else. Curiosity? Then, he was his father in manner and tone. "Of course. Have your secretary schedule with mine," he said, and then he was gone, lost in the masses of people in the room.

"Harry!" Ron said loudly, reaching Harry's side. "Hermione's over there," he said pointing to large woman whose purple plumed hat waved madly as she moved. Harry could just see a glimpse of Hermione when the woman bobbed her head, talking animatedly. "She wants you to come rescue her from Plumy Petunia."

"What?" Harry said laughing. "Plumy what?"

"She calls her Plumey Petunia because of that damn hat she always wears. It's her boss' wife," Ron said giving Harry's arm a tug.

Harry allowed himself to be pulled through the crowd. His mind not on Plumy Petunia or Ron or Hermione. It was the look on Malfoy's face that intrigued him.

"Wasn't that Malfoy talking to you?" Ron asked as he pushed past a grossly overweight wizard in bright yellow robes. Harry was struck by his resemblance to a gooseneck squash.

"Yeah," Harry said over the noise of the party.

"What'd he want?" Ron asked, wedging his way toward Hermione.

"Just to talk for a minute, nothing important," Harry replied.

"Good, he's nothing but a fucking little wanker. No wonder his wife left him."

"Harry!" Hermione cried, throwing her arms around his neck. "This is Petunia Wimpleshott," she gesturing to the woman next to her. "Petunia, this is Harry Potter."

Harry nodded as she chattered and flitted around him. His mind was far away in a fantasy of his own making. Wife gone, blond hair, grey eyes, creamy skin beneath a black robe. Did he dare?

XXXXXX

It was a mistake coming here. It was too noisy, too crowded, too many men dancing shirtless, too much booze, too much to take in at once. His ears were throbbing from the loud, raucous disco beat. He felt a little dizzy from the smoke and the closeness of it all. This was not him. It was for young men who were comfortable in their sexuality, able to dance with abandon, snog in the dark corners, and vanish to the downstairs for a quick fuck. Yes, he knew there was a downstairs. He'd already been asked.

The flyer he'd picked up had promised a "meet and greet," a chance to meet men his own age. This seemed the safest place to meet someone. It wasn't like there was a plethora of gay bars in Hogsmeade or any other wizarding village in England. Or Scotland for that matter. And here he was, drink in hand, watching the parade of twinks, bears, leather daddies, and the few regular looking patrons. He'd seen enough. He'd just have to reconcile himself to being alone the rest of his life. He was too old for this shit. Perhaps, if he'd been more aware of his sexuality ages ago he could have transitioned from party boy into aging club boy and from there into some old queen looking for some way to relive his youth. But, too many responsibilities had crowded out any thought of who he really was or could be.

Harry finished his drink, setting the bottle down on the glitter-littered bar. It was so far away from the pubs that he favored, so strange, so glittering and artificial, he needed to leave.

He jostled his way past the writhing dancers and made his way toward the exit. The red exit sign over the doorway called to him like a beacon of salvation. Perhaps, it was better to be alone and be real and not some creation of this artificial world.

He pushed the bar on the door and almost jumped as a hand covered his and a body bumped him from the side.

But the cool night air hit him as the door flew open from the force of the two men escaping the smoky, strobe lit room. He glanced at the man next to him. He was a step ahead of him so Harry could only see the back of him. His blond hair was pulled back with a thin black ribbon into a small ponytail. He could smell the smoke on him from the room they'd just exited. His dark turtleneck and black jeans were tight and Harry could tell from the way he moved, he worked out, or that he'd had an athletic past.

"Hey, sorry about that. I just needed to get out of that madness, you know," the man said turning around to face Harry.

"Malfoy," Harry stuttered. Why did he have to be here? Tonight of all nights when Harry had finally decided that if he was a fag that he would try to be a fag. Why had Harry even tried this? Malfoy would surely blab this bit of information. How could he not?

"Oh. My. God,"

"Malfoy, listen…" Harry started. Perhaps he could bluff his way out of this. Thinking quickly, Harry continued, "I was here investigating some rogue Wizarding activity. There have been reports of gay Wizards using their magic to entice unsuspecting Muggles. What were you doing inside?" Harry asked, fashioning his face into Auror sternness.

Malfoy's eyes widened, his mouth trembled. "I….Look, I was inside, but I didn't talk to anyone. It was just too odd. It didn't seem real in there. I had to get out, okay?" It was like an echo of Harry's experience.

"Right. Did you see anyone that you recognized that was acting oddly?" Harry questioned. This was working!

"Well," Malfoy said hedging. Oh Merlin! Had he stumbled into something? Harry's mind retraced his own steps that evening, trying to remember the faces he'd seen. Unfortunately, what he remembered most clearly were some delicious abs and tight hot asses shaking to the music. And Malfoy's cute bum going down the steps in front of him.

"I saw a man about our age acting strangely at the bar. He kept trying to hide from view. I think he was a wizard because I could feel the magic coming off him in waves. He seemed to be uncomfortable there. I know I was," Malfoy babbled. "Do you want to go back inside and I could try to identify him?"

"Ummm, just give me his description. He could be dangerous and I don't need the extra paperwork if a civilian should get injured during my investigation," Harry replied, spelling a pad and quill.

"Well, he was a little shorter than me, maybe your height? He had black messy hair, shot with grey. I think he had glasses because sometimes the light would reflect off them. I couldn't see much more than that because I was having a drink on the other end of the bar," Malfoy said. "He seemed to be watching everyone and no one."

"Ah, anything else you can tell me about him?" Harry asked.

"No, not really," Malfoy replied, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry couldn't help notice his nipples through his tight black turtleneck. It wasn't that cold, just a nip of fall in the air.

"All right then, one last question. What were you doing in there?" Harry asked.

"I… erm… I thought it was… I mean… Fuck it, I'm bi all right? I walk both sides of the road as if that's any concern of yours." Malfoy spat defiantly. "After my wife left me, I thought maybe, just fucking maybe that I could meet someone who wanted me for me. Not my money, or the goddamn name or any other fucking thing other than me."

"Oh," Harry said softly.

"And for your goddamn information, I wasn't there to do anything devious to any of those Muggles. I… I wanted a fuck, all right! Nothing more, nothing less! And it's not like I can go to any pub in Hogsmeade or any fucking where else and not be recognized as Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eater Lucius Malfoy! It's not like… like….like." Malfoy was breathing heavily and his fists were clenched tightly now.

"Calm down Malfoy. I wasn't accusing you of anything. I was just covering all the bases so my report will be complete and accurate," Harry said in his most soothing tone of voice. This was getting out of hand. Malfoy was almost trembling, whether from fear or anger, Harry couldn't tell.

"And let me ask you Potter," Malfoy sneered his voice lowering dangerously, "What the fuck were you doing at the end of the bar checking out those club boys? Don't lie, I saw you!"

Harry flushed horribly. "I… It was part of my investigation…"

"Yeah, right…you were investigating those cute boys in there dancing around you, weren't you?"

Malfoy moved closer and Harry could see that his cheeks were as flushed as his own; his eyes were glinting in the lamp light. He would have to be fast if Malfoy reached for his wand.

"No, no…" Harry stuttered awkwardly.

"Then why are you so hard?" Malfoy asked and his hand was on Harry's dick, squeezing it through his trousers. His fingers brushed his length and then curled around him as best they could through the fabric.

"Perhaps you want to be fucked by one of those boys, have his cock in your arse, shooting his load in you, filling you up." Malfoy was so close that Harry could see the faint blond stubble across his jaw line, smell the taint of amaretto on his breath, feel his cock throbbing against his leg as he pressed closer to him, trapping his hand between their bodies.

Harry stifled the moan that threatened to erupt from his lips. Malfoy had an expression on his face akin to hunger. His hand moved on Harry again, touching him, making him painfully hard. Harry couldn't lie, couldn't invent a truth and he said it. "I didn't want a boy. I wanted a man."

Without warning, Malfoy's mouth was on his, kissing him, biting his lip, slipping his tongue into Harry's eagerly receiving mouth, his hand sliding up Harry's dick until it reached the top of his trousers. Cool fingers brushed his skin and Malfoy's fingers hooked and twisted his button open. Harry involuntarily shivered as Malfoy's fingers slid beneath the worn material.

"Good," Malfoy breathed, and Harry felt himself being pushed, gently, but urgently backwards, until he was against the wall. The coldness of the brickwork crept through his shirt and the warmth of Malfoy's mouth was on his neck, nipping his skin, running his tongue along his pounding pulse point. Harry's hands were in on Malfoy's back pulling him closer as Malfoy's body melded with his and Harry couldn't tell where he ended and Malfoy began.

"Oh god, Malfoy,' Harry groaned as Malfoy tugged his shirt from his trousers and slipped his warm hands underneath and traveled up his chest, rolling his nipples and then moving back down to his waistband.

"Harry, oh damn, I don't want to do this here, but…" and his mouth was Harry's stomach kissing it, his tongue fucking Harry's belly button. He pulled Harry's boxers down until the tip of Harry's cock was showing and Harry nearly cried out as Draco's mouth closed over it.

Harry fumbled with the tie holding Draco's hair; it fell loose around his face, the pale silver hair shimmering as his mouth worked Harry's cock. He touched it, the baby-fine strands gliding through his fingers. Draco tongued him hard, and Harry felt his balls tighten. He cupped the back of Draco's head and thrust into dark heat and fire and suction. The bricks were harsh and cutting as they tore into his thrusting buttocks.

"Dra…aco," Harry stammered as Malfoy's marvelous mouth took all of him; Harry gripped tighter, hearing Draco gasp as several fine strands parted from his scalp. Harry thrust and Draco sucked and the world dissolved into light and stars and sparks.

"I want to take you home with me," Draco said huskily, wiping his mouth with his handkerchief, rising from his knees.

Harry nodded. He couldn't speak just yet. He could still feel Draco's mouth on him; sucking him off, dragging him into the world he belonged.

"Come on then," Draco purred, grasping Harry's hand, entwining his long fingers through Harry's shorter ones and turning.

The sensation never failed to amaze Harry; the squeezing dark tunnel and then being himself again. At this moment there was no one else Harry wanted to be.

He was in Draco's manor, in a comfortably furnished bedroom with plush carpets, a simple silver bed fitted with soft green sheets and an exquisite duvet with threads of shining silver woven through it. A squishy looking sofa sat before a banked fire. The occasional tongue of flame flickered and darted out to devour the wood so carefully arranged in the hearth.

It wasn't what Harry expected, although his last memory of the manor was one seen through hideously swollen eyes. It wasn't the dark dungeons that he associated with Draco, but the room seemed to fit the man he'd become, the man he now was. It was a simple, comfortable room, just as was the man who lived there.

"Uh… Draco, I'm… I've never," Harry started to say, but Draco's mouth was on his again and words and thoughts fled his mind.

Draco reached between them and undid Harry's shirt, pushing it off the other man's shoulders. Harry suddenly felt naked and exposed and vulnerable and Draco was sucking his tit, nipping at the sensitive areola.

"Wait, wait…" Harry stuttered, wanting to move away, but also wanting Draco to continue.

"Why?" Draco said, straightening. He studied Harry for a moment, then stooped, grabbed Harry's shirt from the floor and tossed it at him. "You might want to put that on, it's just as cold out here in Wiltshire as it is in London." He turned and strode to the fireplace and rested his head again the high mantel above it.

The logs crackled and the light from the fire cast flickering shadows across the room. Although the temperature hadn't changed, the room felt much colder to Harry now. What had Draco seen when he looked at him? A pathetic, almost middle-aged man wearing glasses, half-naked, shivering from both excitement and fear? A fag who couldn't be or wouldn't allow himself to be sexually active? A man who yearned for the experience of sex with another wizard?

"I can call and have a car take you back to your home, Harry," Draco said softly. "I'm sure you'll want to file your report. I'd appreciate it if you'd leave my name out of it, if at all possible.

Harry shrugged his shirt on, but didn't bother to button it. He joined Draco in front of the fireplace. Resting a forearm on the mantel, he stared at Draco, watching the reddish-orange light from the fire flicker across his face, making him look eerie with hollowed out eyes and dark shadows under his cheekbones.

"I don't want to leave. I… I just needed to catch my breath, that's all," Harry explained. He smiled when Draco looked over at him. Harry swallowed nervously, his throat tightening. Draco had that smile on his face, like the one he wore at the pub six months ago. This time Harry wasn't drunk and the effect of that dazzling smile took his breath away.

"Would you like a drink? I've got some hundred year old scotch, if you'd like?" Draco asked.

Harry nodded. This is weird. Beyond weird, more along the lines of absolutely fucking mad! He was in Draco Malfoy's bedroom waiting for a glass of hundred year old scotch after getting blown by the same Draco Malfoy.

Draco went to the cabinet in the corner of the room and began to pour their drinks. Harry watched his muscles flex underneath his dark turtleneck sweater. The sudden urge to feel those flexing muscles under his hands struck him, but Harry didn't move. What if what happened is all there was between them?

Instead, he turned back to the mantle and studied the photos. They were all wizarding photos, of course. The one that caught his eye was one of a small blond boy with green eyes running, his arms uplifted. Draco appeared in the photo and spun the boy around.

"Your son?" Harry asked when Draco handed him his drink.

"Scorpious. I believe he's the same age as your son, right?"

"Harry swirled his drink. "Yeah, he is. Al just started Hogwarts last year."

"I know, I saw you at the station.," Draco said, then sipped his scotch. He looked tired and worn again, just as Harry had seen him almost a year ago.

"Draco, what happened with you and…?" Harry asked. It never occurred to him that he didn't know Draco's wife's name.

"Leisse. She decided that she wanted to be with her lover. She's moved back to Switzerland."

"Her what? What about Scorpious? "Harry asked, feeling gob smacked again.

"Her lover. It's alright, I have Scorpious. The court said he should remain with me, and a healthy stipend made it more palatable for her." Draco said, then tossed the rest of his drink into the fire. The flames shot up then died back down.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

"Don't be. It's better this way. I'm better this way," Draco replied. The silence grew between them, then Draco said, "Well, I know the official version that the Prophet reported, but what happened with you and the Weaselette?"

"You just can't call them by their names, can you?" Harry laughed.

"I call my friends by their names… and since my name is permanently Ferret to them, I can't see calling them by anything else," Draco said.

"So, what do you call me? Am I still Potty?" Harry asked, a grin quirking his face.

"No," Draco said slowly. "Your name is Harry." He leaned over and kissed Harry, slowly this time; the taste of scotch mingling with his own unique taste. Harry deepened the kiss, threading his fingers into Draco's hair, cupping the nape of his neck and feeling Draco's arms encircle his waist pulling him closer.

Draco kissed his chin and then trailed his tongue over Harry's jaw line, until he reached Harry's neck.

"Draco?"

"Yeah," he said softly, his mouth on Harry's collarbone.

"She caught me reading Playwitch."

"What! That's incredibly stupid. She divorced you because you were reading a witch's magazine? For Merlin's sake!"

"Well, I wasn't exactly reading it. I was tossing off while looking at a picture," Harry said, embarrassed.

Draco snorted, laughter bubbling out of him. "Oh my Gods, what a way to get caught! Who was the lucky bloke who got your rocks off?"

Harry smiled, and pulled Draco to him and kissed his laughing mouth. When they were both breathless, Harry pulled away and gazed deep into Draco's eyes. He smiled and brushed a strand of blond hair off Draco's face. "You."

Draco's eyes widened, then so did his smile. "Well, let me make sure it wasn't all in vain," he said. He pulled Harry toward the bed and pushed him down on it. Harry started to pull Draco down to him, but the other man drew back.

"Uh-uh, patience Potter," Draco said with a sly look on his face.

"I thought it was Harry," Harry said, and stretched back on the bed, propped up on one elbow.

"Oh right," Draco said, and he laughed. "Nice pose, Harry. You look really sexy like that."

"Well, how would you have me look?"

"Naked would be good.," Draco said then with out preamble, he reached over and undid Harry's trousers and tugged them down, Harry's shoes stopping them from sliding completely off. Draco dropped down, pulled off Harry's shoes and pulled his trousers off and slung them across the room. "Don't move." Draco said, flopping down next to Harry. "I want to take this slow; I want to make sure that picture was worth all that's happened."

He hooked his fingers around the waistband of Harry's boxes and slowly drew them down his legs. He studied Harry's flushed face, then leaned over and kissed him. "Undress me," Draco mumbled into Harry's lips.

Harry didn't have to be told twice. Draco had aged very well indeed. Muscles born from Quidditch were still quite evident and though Harry had seen many boys in the shower during his school years, this was different. Mostly because the other boys weren't hard for him.

Draco's hands roamed over Harry's chest, his fingers touching his pecs, his abs, and this finally touching his dick. Draco slowly stroked it, his fingers tightening around the hardening length. Harry gasped at his touch.

"Do you want me to suck you off again?" Draco asked, still fondling Harry.

"Anything you want to do," Harry choked out. Draco smirked at the pleasure on his face.

"Well, I've done that. What about something else? What do you like, Harry," his name on Draco's lips sounding like molten chocolate.

"I don't know. I've never, I mean…" Harry turned into a stammering fool again.

"Ah, I see," Draco said. "Turn over."

"What?"

"Just do it."

Harry turned over and he felt Draco crawl on top of him, straddling him, his hard cock resting between his arse cheeks. "I think first a massage and then, Harry," he leaned over and whispered into Harry's ear, "I'm going to fuck you so hard, you'll never want anyone else."

His hands were all over Harry's back, massaging, rubbing, stroking. His mouth was right behind his hands, nipping, leaving little love bites in its wake. Draco scooted down a little, kneeling between Harry's legs. He ran a finger down Harry's back, smiling as the other man shivered at his touch. He trailed it lower until it was in right above the start of Harry's arse. He ran his finger down and grinned as Harry flinched.

"What… what are you doing?" Harry stammered. He made to get up, but Draco pushed him back down.

"You'll see. You'll like it, I promise," Draco replied, and Harry felt his warm breathe upon his arse. Then it touched him.

A tongue. Not any tongue, but one very talented tongue. It dipped against his tight muscle, flicking lightly against his entrance. He felt it push past his muscle, and Draco's lips pressed to his entrance, kissing him there. There! Harry would never have expected the sounds that came from his mouth at that precise moment. In fact, if he could have had the mental capacity to hazard a guess at that precise moment, he would have guessed they were the mating noises of a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

Harry whimpered, his fingers digging into the sheets, twisting them as Draco feasted upon him. Then… the sensation stopped. "Draco," Harry mumbled into the sheets.

Then a finger entered him. Slowly it probed him, furling and unfurling inside him, touching him in ways that he'd never been touched before. Then another finger entered him. He felt himself being stretched, opened up, and all he could do was writhe on the bed and moan helplessly. It was as close to perfection that he'd ever felt. Then… his senses exploded, a streak of pleasure flew along his nerves, sparks along his back, and Harry cried out.

He heard Draco laugh, and say "found it." What it was, he didn't know, and didn't care. He just wanted him to do it again.

"You all right there," Draco asked, and Harry shivered in response.

Then it happened again and Harry felt fuller, felt three fingers moving inside him. He felt the fingers curl and the streak of pleasure shot up his back and into his groin at the same time.

"Soon, real soon now, Harry," Draco whispered, before kissing Harry's back. Harry could feel wetness leaking from the tip of Draco's dick, now resting snugly between his arse cheeks and the feeling of fullness left him. He heard Draco whisper, then a cool slickness was at his entrance.

"Cold," Harry gasped. Draco only grunted.

He gasped again as Draco's fingers spread it around and into him. Draco shifted Harry's hips. He felt really awkward on his knees and elbows, his face pressed into the mattress. He waited for Draco's fingers to re-enter him, but this time it was different, better, harder, fuller. Harry gritted his teeth, it was stretching him, filling him, and then the pressure stopped. It was incredible. Draco kissed the back of his neck.

"Harry," Draco said softly. I'm moving now. I…I can't …" Draco whispered, then he moved.

His cock moved within him, slowly at first, then faster. Harry grunted and rocked back wanting more, wanting the feeling to continue. This was so different than sex with Ginny. He could understand now. He could understand a lot of things now.

Draco moved faster, his balls slapping against Harry's arse. Harry pushed back and Draco reached around and grasped his weeping dick. It was fast, it was hot, it was…it was… it was everything.

Harry gasped and came across Draco's hand, spattering the sheets with his come. Draco stroked his wilting length and slammed into him, filling him with heat and wetness and himself. He collapsed on top of Harry, panting.

"Oh fuck," Harry moaned.

Draco cupped Harry's chin and kissed him, hard. He looked into Harry's eyes and smiled a sexy little smile.

"Did I tell you, Harry? Next month, I'm the centerfold?"


End file.
